When the north winds blow
by SusanneStories
Summary: All Lothíriel of Dol Amroth wanted to do was help. She had felt so useless ever since the war started. She was told to flee, but instead found herself in the houses of healing and finding herself way in over her head.
1. Chapter 1

The hem on her dress was not as clean as she hoped but they'd just run out of bandages and had to quickly resort to finding other means of helping the wounded. She didn't have time to think. Propriety told her that what she was about to do was wrong and under normal circumstances she wouldn't dream of causing a scandal. But men were dying all around her and she had no other choice. She grabbed the bottom of her dress and ripped. It was a lot more difficult than she presumed; clearly whoever had made this dress had made it well. Ankles now exposed and her poor dress tattered and frayed, she'd gotten enough material to make two measly bandages and turned back to the man lying on the table. Blood covered him completely, the arm nearest to her was severed at the elbow and blood was gushing out of the wound at an alarming rate. Panic consumed her she hadn't been trained for this. She'd learned a little about medicine and healing back home and thought she could be of use. But she quickly discovered that what she did know as like a drop in the ocean of what she needed to know. Holding the pathetic bits of cloth in her hand she froze.

"Lothíriel" Someone grabbed her on the shoulder and pushed her to the side.  
"Come girl! Move out of the way. Pass me those." Lothíriel didn't have time to respond to the command; the dregs from her dress were quickly yanked from her grasp.

"Hold his arm up high!" The voice commanded. "Quickly!" she shouted when Lothíriel didn't respond immediately. Lothíriel shook her head coming to her senses. She looked at the woman and realised it was the Matron.

"Sorry" Lothíriel mumbled and quickly grabbed hold of what was left of the man's arm. Blood oozed out or the man's arm and ran down Lothíriel's, bile rose up into her mouth. She turned her face away quickly, taking in deep breaths. She closed her eyes and waited until the matron told her she could release her hold.

"Find more bandages! And boil more water" The matron commanded before she left to take a look at another man. Lothíriel took a moment to look around the room. So many, there was so many bodies lying on the floor, some lifeless and cold and others screaming and crying. The houses of the healing were full to capacity, full of men women and even children. Lothíriel could see that they were even men lying on the floor outside.

Bandages! She reminded herself. Quickly surveying her surroundings she could see many of the bodies were men that were foreign to her. She had heard the horns from the battle signalling their arrival, the Rohirrim had answered Gondor's calls for aid. Now many of their bodies were unmoving, their wounds too severe to fix. She'd held many of their hands before their end and tried to speak comforting words, knowing that many wouldn't understand her. But right now she didn't have time to dwell on this. What she was really looking for was their cloaks. They wouldn't make the best bandages she knew, but it was better than nothing. Taking the cloak away from a dead man was not an easy task, it felt wrong and she felt guilty. She cut as many log lengths of material that she could from the cloaks and ran to where the matron was.  
"Marton!" Lothíriel gasped. She held out all the bandages and the matron took them with a nod of acknowledgment. Lothíriel was about to start her search for more cloaks when shouts could be heard from outside.

"Victory! We have victory!" The shouts were getting louder. Could it be? She didn't dare hope. A young boy no more than twelve came barging through pushing her aside. "We've won!" He yelled so the whole room could hear "We've actually won!"  
Everyone paused for the briefest moment. A woman next to Lothíriel sank to her knees sobbing uncontrollably. Shouts of "Thank goodness" and "I can't believe it" could be heard throughout the building.

Tears ran down Lothíriel's cheek, finally letting herself think of the people she hadn't dared think of since the battle began. She hadn't seen nor heard of her Father and brothers since she'd last said goodbye to them before the enemy arrived. Not knowing whether it was a good sign or not that she hadn't seen one of their bodies come through the doors of the houses of healing.

All sense of time had been lost, the skies were just a permanent grey and Lothíriel couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good sleep. The healers were running thin and Lothíriel was forced to do more uncomfortable things than she ever thought she'd have to do, sleep wasn't going to come for a long time yet. She just did as she was told hour by hour and tried to not let the situation overwhelm her.

"Lothíriel". Sometime later she heard her name being shouted from the other side of the room. Eyes scanning the room she could see another young girl waving at her. It was Liel a young nurse in training that she'd gotten to know in her time at Minas Tirith. Lothíriel made her way over to her.  
"I need your help please" She'd gone white as a sheet. Lothíriel looked over her shoulder and soon found out why.

"Faramir?" Lothíriel's cousin Faramir lay before her, she could only just recognise him under all the blood and dirt. "Oh Faramir" Lothíriel whispered. He was unconscious that much she knew.  
"He was injured at the battle of Osgiliath" Liel began to explain. "He survived, but your Uncle Denethor wouldn't bring him here. I'm unsure why. The city guards brought him, I thought maybe you'd know of some herbs that could help." Liel looked hopefully at Lothíriel .

"I know of some herbs that would help with a fever, but I fear it may be too late" Lothíriel felt helpless. True she did know some remedies that she'd learnt from Dol Amroth's houses of healing, but that was for common colds and minor ailments. "I'll see what I can find" Liel reached out for Loth hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Without saying anymore Lothíriel made her way to the houses of healing's garden to find the herbs.

"MOVE! " A loud voice demanded. Lothíriel was making her way back from the garden. She looked over to where the raised voices were coming from. Several tall men clearly from the north pushed their way through the crowd.

"A bed! Quickly" Another much softer voice added. Loth watch as the matron made her way over to the men. She was covered head to toe in blood and was trying her best to wipe most of it off her face. "My lords, we have no beds left. The wounded are too many" she sounded apologetic. "We've had to place many outside".

"Then move one of these outside!" A desperate voice shouted back at Matron. The matron looked flustered, looking about the room quickly no doubt trying to find out if any of the men surrounding her were dead and no longer needed help.

"He can have my space in the back!" Lothíriel shouted over to the Matron. She didn't know what came over her. It wasn't like it was the best offering. She just had a corner in the back room where the medicine was kept.

The desperate man was staring at her with such intense grey eyes. A shiver ran through Lothíriel. She couldn't help but stare back.

"Thank you" The man with the softer voice replied. Loth nodded a reply still unable to break her gaze from the man with the piercing grey eyes. She could see so much sorrow in those eyes.  
"Through that door there" The matron pointed to where the medicine room was. The man looked away from Lothíriel to where the Matron was pointing. Without another word the men quickly carried the injured body through into the back room.

Faramir, she remembered. Lothíriel ran back to help her cousin. A tall man all dressed in white was standing over him. Liel was nowhere to be seen.

"My lord?" Lothíriel approached cautiously. The man was muttering as he slowly moved his arms over Far. As Loth grew closer she noticed he was old with white hair and a long beard. It was Mithrandir the wizard. Lothíriel had seem him from a distance just before the battle began. He rallied the men when her uncle Denethor couldn't be found.

Lothíriel heard that her uncle had past. She found that she did not care, he abandoned Minas Tirith in its hour of need and if it wasn't for strangers from the north the city would've perished for sure.

Lothíriel knew there was nothing more she could do to help here and put the herbs on the side and left without another word.  
"Lothíriel!" Her name was being called, a voice she knew so well. A wave of relief swept over her, she dare not dream to hope. Craning her neck over the crowded room she saw her brother Amrothos waving franticly at her.

"Amrothos!" She shouted and pushed her way through the crowd as quickly as she could. Running into his arms she cried the tears she'd been holding back for days. He held onto her tightly.  
"Thank heavens" Amrothos whispered in her hear. "Are you alright?" He asked her.  
She nodded into his shoulder. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. Fear crept back into her thoughts. "Father? Erch…"

"They're alive" He reassured her before she could finish asking the question.  
Lothíriel didn't say anything she just sobbed uncontrollably, tears running down her face. Her family had survived.

"There's no more room in here! You'll have to find somewhere else!" Matrons stern voice carried over the room. Lothíriel glanced over Amrothos' shoulder. More desperate people were trying to get into the houses of healing.

"Where?" Panicked voices answered.  
The citadel was not too far away Lothíriel thought. That would be a big enough space to house more people. "Matron!" Lothíriel called to her. "What about the citadel? There will be plenty of room there and splitting the injured up according to their injuries would help I'm sure."  
"Good" Replied matron. "Well you heard her! Get these men to the citadel!" She shouted at the crowd.

As much as matron scared her, she did admire her resilience. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her take a rest and the woman was no longer a spring chicken.  
The matron turned to Lothíriel. "I'll go with these men. You stay here and carry on looking after these." She gestured to the room. The entire room! Lothíriel panicked.  
"But, Matron" She crocked.

"Just do it girl!" She looked resignedly at Lothíriel and handed her a handful of material and marched off to the temple. Loth looked down at her hands to see them full of the makeshift bandages she had made earlier.

Lothíriel lost track of time. She'd made her way around every injured person in the room, some with minor injuries where she actually thought she was doing something that helped. And others that she knew were way beyond her help, all she could do was make them as comfortable as possible. Some she told stories to, others a verse from a sea shanty she knew but most just wanted to hold her hand.

"Please help!" A women hysterically grabbed hold of Lothíriel's arm. "Please you must help my son!" Lothíriel recognised the women. She had been kneeling for hours next to her dying son. Lothíriel had tried everything that she could. There was no hope for him. He'd been stabbed in the stomach by what looked like a poisoned spear. Even if she could stop the bleeding there was no way she could stop the poison from spreading. The last time she'd looked at him, he was mumbling nonsense and fitting. All Lothíriel could do was to try and make him comfortable. Still, knowing it was hopeless she let the women drag her back to her son. One look at his face confirmed her fears. Glass eyes stared up to the ceiling, the boy was dead. The woman wailed at the sight for her dead son, it was the most heart breaking noise Lothíriel had ever heard, it pierced her soul. She couldn't take it anymore, nothing she did helped! She felt entirely useless.

"I'm so sorry" she whispered but her words could not be heard over the cries of the mother. The room started to close in on her and she was finding it hard to breathe. I need to get out, Lothíriel thought. She ran as quickly as she could out the back door to the gardens. Slamming the door shut she cried "It's just not good enough!" In frustration she kicked a metal bucket on the floor, sending it flying across the herb garden.

All Lothíriel of Dol Amroth wanted to do was help. She had felt so useless ever since the war started. She was told to flee, but instead found herself in the houses of healing and finding herself way in over her head.


	2. Chapter 2

Éomer son Éomund couldn't take it anymore. Aragorn had said that he'd done all he could and that all that his sister needed was time to recover. Éomer had never felt so helpless, not even when Wormtongue had poisoned the mind of his uncle and all he could do was watch as his uncle drifted further away from him. He needed some air.  
Why was Éowyn even here? She should be back in Rohan as their uncle had commanded.

Utter despair had consumed him when he had seen his sister dead on the fields of Pelenor. He fought back the enemy with such a rage that he'd never felt before. It wasn't until after that he'd learnt that his sister was still alive. He should've known she'd do something like this; He'd been ignoring his sister of late and now he was bitterly regretting it.

He could hear and surprisingly smell his friend approach before he saw him. Peregrin Took was smoking a pipe. Where on earth he had found the pipeweed to smoke Éomer did not know. Pippin had come to the houses of healing when he found his friend Merry wounded. Pippin handed Éomer the pipe.

"Not for me my friend, but thank you." Éomer replied to his gesture. They sat in silence for a few moments, which was the longest that Éomer could ever remember his friend being silent for. "How's young Merry doing?" Eomer asked. He would forever be grateful to Merry, for he helped save his sister.  
"Good…. I think" Pippin answered. "He asked if there was any food around".

Eomer snorted. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate anything.

Bang! A nearby door was slammed and somebody was shouting in frustration. Before either of them had time to register where the noise came from something was flying towards them. It landed not too far away from their feet. It was a metal bucket of all things.

"Hey! You almost hit us!" Pippin shouted at whoever had kicked the bucket. Éomer peered over to see that it was a girl. The same girl that he saw in the houses of healing earlier. She looked up at them. Her face was all blotchy and tears streamed down her face. She stared back at them, looking panicked.

"I'm so sorry." She gasped. "Forgive me I didn't see you there." The girl started to walk away.

"Wait!" Cried Pippin. She stopped and turned round. "Do you know where I can get some food?"  
Before the confused girl could reply Éomer wacked Pippin across the back of the head.

"Ow!" Pippin cried.

"Idiot" Éomer cursed. The girl ran back inside before anything more could be said.

"What was that for?" Pippin demanded.

"I'm going back inside." Éomer grumbled, not answering Pippin's question. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah." Pippin replied.

They were just making their way back when a voiced shouted. "Wait!" It was girl back again. "It's not much, but It's all I can get at the moment" She opened her hands and presented to them a crust of bread and pretty bruised apple.

Pippin's eyes widened at the gift. "Thank you" he breathed. Pippin took the food from the girl and held it close to his chest like it was treasured possession.

"I'm sure there's more." The girl added. "My cousin Faramir would know but he's gravely ill at the moment."

Pippin paused and looked up. "Faramir is your cousin?" He asked. The girl nodded in reply.

"I'm Pippin, guard of the Citadel." Pippin juggled the food he was carrying to free his one hand.

"Lothíriel." The girl shook Pippin's free hand in greeting.

Imrahil had briefly told Éomer about his daughter. And from what he could recall of their conversation Imrahil's daughter should be in hiding, ready to escape should the battle go ill. Not looking after the wounded in the houses of healing.

Éomer carried on making his way back inside.

"Don't mind him" Éomer could hear Pippin whispering to the girl.  
The rest of what he was saying was too quiet for Éomer to hear. What he did hear though was the alarmed voice of the girl exclaiming "Sister?!"

There were many shocked responses when news slowly spread that the king of Rohan's niece had rode into battle in disguise. They were even more shocked when they found out that she had slayed the Witch-king of Angmar. Éomer still couldn't believe it himself. It was Imrahil that had told him that his sister still lived.  
Éomer arrived back by Éowyn's side. Nothing had changed. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were still closed. To Éomer's surprise her skin did look a little less pale and a little more pink.

Pippin had finished telling Lothíriel the brave tale of the Lady Éowyn riding into battle with the Rohirrim and how against all odds she slayed the Witch-King. To Lothíriel it all seemed a bit far fetched and she wondered how much of it was actually true. But once she had laid eyes on her herself and could see her injuries, she knew that Pippin had not lied. She waited for Lord Éomer to leave his sisters side before she went to see the lady Éowyn herself, she didn't want to intrude. The white lady was still dressed in her armour and she was covered head to toe in blood, dirt and other bodily fluids. Somebody had attempted to wash her face, but without ample clean water there was only so much somebody could do. Lothíriel would see to that once more clean water could be spared; the task was put to the top of her list.

"Where is she?!" A loud voice demanded. A voice that was undeniably her Father was shouting from the middle of the vast building his voice echoing off the walls. She knew she would get a scolding from him, but she didn't care. He was alive and that was all that mattered at that time. She ran crowded room of healers and patients towards where his voice was coming from.

"Father!" Lothíriel cried. He turned around to see his daughter running to him; relief was clear on his face. Lothíriel ran into his open arms. They both held onto each other as hard as they could, not wanting to let the other go.

"Lothíriel, what are you doing here?" Imrahil now looked straight into his daughter's eyes. "You're supposed to be miles away by now, where is Capatin Alarch?"  
Lothíriel was supposed be making her way north with a dozen of her father's men. Everyone knew that the chance of them defeating the enemy was slim and her father had put a plan in place for her to make her way north to find the Elves. But Lothíriel had wanted to do her part, she had wanted to help.

"I don't know where he is Father. I fear the worst". A lone tear made its way down her cheek. The last time she had seen Captain Alarch it was chaos he was telling her to stay put and he'd come back and find her. He never came back. When she saw the influx of injured men, she found her way to the houses of healing and vowed to do all she could to help. She had banished all thoughts of trying to flee.

"Come daughter. Let's get you out of here" Her father said calmly, he knew now wasn't the time to lecture her.

"Leave?" his daughter said sounding confused. "I'm not going anywhere Father."

Imrahil looked down at his daughter. Suddenly he realised how different she looked. Her hair, usually down in long flowing raven locks was haphazardly plated under a muddy head scarf. The blue of her dress had turned brown with mud and blood, and her ankles were exposed where it looked like her dress had been ripped away. What had happened to his little girl?

"Well at least come and find somewhere to rest, lord knows you need it". He knew even when he said the words that it was pointless, his daughter had a mind of her own.

"There's something I need to do first". On her tip toes she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll come find you later. I promise". She gave his hand a squeeze and left to find some clean water.

Éomer had gone back to the battle field. He owed it to his men and their families to try and find any bodies left behind. He knew now that it was hopeless to find any more survivors. But he needed to make sure that all of his men who had lost their lives had a burial fit for the heroic lives they led. It was starting to get darker and he knew that it was hopeless trying to carry on the search today. He would come back on the morrow.

Making his way back to the houses of the healing, he passed many people trying to clear the streets of rubble. They were trying to make space for the carts carrying injured or more likely dead people up and down the city. Éomer could see many more bodies half crushed under the walls of Minas Tirith, it would be a while until their bodies could be identified.

"Get out the way!" People rushed past him, with blackened faces and carrying buckets of water. The well must've been unearthed thought Éomer and the people of Minas Tirith were frantically trying to extinguish the last of the fires. Luckily the city was made mainly of stone. Had we'd been in Edoras, there would be nothing left of the city, that thought made Éomer shiver. He wanted more than anything to return to his homeland, but the skies above Gondor were still getting blacker. The enemy was regrouping.

Upon entering the house of healing, Éomer could see that it was a lot calmer. Disturbingly there were a lot more empty spaces. He just hoped and prayed that the little space in the back was still occupied. He'd left specific instruction to be told immediately if there were any changes with his sister. But it still made him uneasy as he made his way round the corner.

Éowyn was still there and very much the same as before. But as he got closer, he could see that someone had attempted to bathe her. She looked healthier and brighter than before. Éomer was in no doubt has to who had been looking after his sister for he had seen her attending to her a few times. He went in search for Imrahil's daughter.

Éomer found her attending to Cenulf one of his Éored. He'd had a nasty blow to the head and Lothíriel was attending the bloody gash.

"My lord Éomer". Cenulf greeted him.

"You look much improved from the last time I saw you." Éomer remarked. For Éomer It was such a relief to see. He was so used to seeing the opposite.

"I've had good people looking after me my Lord". Cenulf said gesturing to Lothíriel.

"So I can see" Éomer replied.

Lothíriel was gently wiping away clotted blood from Cenulf's head and didn't acknowledge Éomer's presence.

"My lord if there's anything I can do" Cenulf made to get up.

"Oh no you don't!" Lothíriel gently pushed him back down. "You're not going anywhere for the time being".

"But I swear I feel fine!" Cenulf argued.

"I don't care!" Lothíriel held her own. "You've had a seriously blow to the head. You know you're lucky to be alive, right? Now hold still while I finish patching you up."

"Lord Éomer!" Éomer turned to see Marshall Elfhelm calling him. "They've called a meeting".

"I'll be right there" He turned back towards Cenulf and Lothíriel. "May I have a quick word?" He looked at Lothíriel.

"Of course My lord" Lothíriel stood up and gave Cenulf a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Éomer led her to the middle of the room.

"I wanted to thank you for caring for my sister." Éomer was never great with words, but he wanted Lothíriel to know how truly grateful he was.

"You're welcome." She replied. "With your permission I would like to move her to a more comfortable bed." She paused looking around the room "There's now a lot more free space".

Éomer looked around the room too. There were indeed many more free beds. It was very disheartening.

He nodded his approval. "I've been called to the citadel, I'd be very appreciative if you could let me know if there's any change". Éomer hated leaving his sister's side, but there wasn't anything he could do for her.

"Yes of course my Lord". Lothíriel smiled. It was a beautiful smile, probably the most beautiful thing Éomer had seen in months. It momentarily shocked him.

"Sir?" Elfhelm's call brought him back to his senses. He hastily bowed a farewell to Lothíriel and left to join the meeting.


End file.
